The Greatest Thing
by stepstohappiness
Summary: Harry is a penniless writer who has moved to London in search of the greatest love story ever told, but instead discovers a band of playwrights who introduce him to the magical world of music, the infamous club Honeyduke's, and a dancer named Draco.


The man appeared from a cloud of smoke, his figure shrouded by a thick black cloak. His boots clicked in the silence as he stepped down the platform. There was a long moment before he cried out, "Outside it may be raining, but in here it's entertaining!" The man spun around in circle on the toe of his boot, lightning fast, his cloak flying off to reveal a bright red suit jacket with tails and a cane in hand, a top hat with a red silk band covering his long black hair. The music and lights had started up again, attacking all my senses simultaneously, the colors and sound vying for my attention. Only one thing held my interest, though. And that was the angelic boy, the star of the show: Draco.

**Chapter 1: Freedom, Beauty, Truth, and Love.**

When I told my godfather, Sirius, of my plans to leave our small village just outside of Bath for the thriving city of London, he had merely shaken his head.

"I can't stop you. Come back here once you've cured yourself of this ridiculous obsession with love." He rolled his eyes, I packed my bags. As I walked out the door to meet my fate, he shouted one last thing to me:

"Just don't end up wasting your life at Honeyduke's with some bloody dancer!"

I ended up at a small, somewhat shabby flat in the heart of London, near the exact club my godfather had warned me against. I was not in London, however, to gaze at the dancers who sold their bodies and their love each night. I was there to write the greatest love story of all time. There was just one problem:

I had never been in love!

I sat at the small desk in my flat, attempting to write something, when a sudden crash and a man falling through the top of my room took me by surprise. I got up quickly, rushing over to the lanky red-haired man, now covered in plaster and dust, and looked up, to see three heads surrounding the hole and staring down at me.

A ladder was quickly sent down through the hole, followed by a small woman with wild, curly brown hair. "Terribly, terribly sorry. He's such a klutz. How are we supposed to put on a play with him falling and tripping over everything in sight?" She let out an exasperated sigh, then held out her hand. "Hermione Granger, pleased to make your acquaintance." She smiled, then proceeded to try and pick up the man, who appeared to be completely out of it.

"Do you want any help?" She nodded gratefully and I assisted in picking up the man and hauling him through the ceiling. "I'm Harry, by the way." She smiled and nodded, then stood the redhead up and dusted him off, only to have him collapse again. She shrugged her shoulders and hefted him onto a chair before turning back to me. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted another man in the room.

"Hermione! Hurry, now! We must get back to work at once! If we don't finish this draft of 'Spectacular, Spectacular' tonight, Snape will never agree to put it on, and all our work will be for nothing!" The young man had a high, panicked voice, which only got worse once he saw the man passed out in the chair. He wailed mournfully, "Oh, now what are we going to do? Ronald has passed out! Who are we going to get to stand in as the young, sensitive Swiss poet goat herder?" Three sets of eyes turned to me, and I saw what was happening, but not before I could stop it.

"Really, I don't think that's such…"

"Nonsense! You'll do fine!" Hermione replied.

And before I knew it, there I was, standing on a ladder in full Swiss goat herder costume, as complete and utter chaos erupted around me. They were trying to find lines that would fit their song, and none of it made any sense.

"The hills animate, with euphonious symphonies of descant." Hermione sang in a strange, warbling tone. The musician of the group, who I found later to be named Luna, was a dreamy-eyed blonde girl with eccentric taste. Strange instruments clanged and rang out, creating an odd, dissonant sound with Hermione's voice.

"The hills are vital, intoning the descant." She suggested. She tilted her head and hit the triangle hanging next to her piano, and whirring, buzzing sounds emanated from the side of the room.

"No, no! The hills quake and shake -"

"That's ridiculous!" shouted the young man in his quavering voice, who I discovered was named Neville. He was apparently the actual writer in this whole charade. "The hills intonate with the sound of melodies! And Luna!" He shrieked, causing the girl to whip her head around so fast her brightly colored spectacles flew across the room. "Please! Stop that incessant noise, it's drowning out my lyrics! A little light piano is all that is needed, thank you." He sighed dramatically, flinging his arms into the air and waving his peacock feather quill around violently.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I attempted to say something, to give them an idea, but nothing worked. My voice would not be heard over their shouts and chants, which were growing increasingly louder as they continued to argue. Amidst loud cries of "the hills!" and "they cry," I just couldn't take it anymore. In my hometown the only way I could catch anyone's attention was by singing. So, I cleared my throat and, as loud as I could muster, sang out.

"_The hills are alive, with the sound of music._"

This got their attention. The room fell silent and they all stared at me for a moment in complete shock. After a long pause, Hermione nearly leapt for joy, clapping her hands and crying out, "That's brilliant!" She waved her hand at Luna. "Quick, try it with the music!"

On her order, a chorus of "The hills are alive with the sound of music," sang out from each person in the room. Luna played her instruments and even Ron got in a few words before passing out again.

"It fits perfectly!" She exclaimed. Encouraged, I continued.

"_With songs they have sung for a thousand years_." The small group looked entirely ecstatic, save for the writer, Neville, who was starting to look a bit flustered.

"Why, Harry, you're brilliant!" She turned to Neville. "You two should write the show together!"

But this was not what Neville wanted to hear. "How dare you!" He cried, storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Hermione merely shrugged her shoulders and continued to formulate her plot. She started by pouring a glass of something she called absinthe, which looked like toxic waste to me. She raised her glass.

"Here's to your first job in London!" She smiled before downing the contents of the glass. Luna wasn't so sure, however.

"But Hermione, Snape will never agree!" I looked at her curiously, and she glanced up at me apologetically. "No offense, but have you ever written a play before?"

"Well, no…" I shook my head.

Ron had woken up by this time, and stood up, speaking for the first time. "So what! The bloke's got talent! 'The hills are alive with the sound of music,'! He can do it!" Hermione pulled Luna aside, and Ron joined them in a small huddle. I hovered over them, trying to listen in.

"You see, Luna, with Harry we can write a truly remarkable play, the one we've always dreamt of!"

"But how will we convince Snape?"

But Hermione had a plan. "Draco. We get Harry cleaned up a bit, pass him off as a famous writer. Once Draco hears the boy's poetry, he'll be begging him to write Spectacular, Spectacular!"

The only problem was I couldn't stop hearing my godfather's voice in my head.

"…_end up wasting your life at Honeyduke's with some bloody dancer!_"

I got down from that ladder quick as flash, and began heading towards the other one that would lead me down to my flat. "I, I can't! I can't write the show for Honeyduke's!"

"Why not?" Hermione exclaimed, stopping me before I could descend the second ladder.

"I don't know if I can even write a play! What if I'm not a true poet?"

The entire group surrounded me now, and they were all completely baffled by my concerns.

"Do you believe in beauty?" Hermione asked.

"Yes."

"Freedom?" asked Ron

"Yes, of course!"

"Truth?" cried out Luna.

"Yes…"

"Love?" Hermione asked at last.

"Love? Love?" I knew my answer. "Above all things, I believe in love. Love is like oxygen. Love is a many-splendored thing, love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love!"

The group around me cheered and Hermione grinned. "See! You can't fool us, you have the voice, you are a true poet!"

"We can't be fooled!" Ron and Luna cried. And so, the plan was set. Honeyduke's catered to men and women alike, Hermione reassured me it would not look out of place to have both a man and a woman show up there. She would arrange a private meeting with Draco, where I would perform my poetry, convincing him that I could -and should- write Spectacular, Spectacular for the club.

That night before setting off, I tasted my first glass of absinthe. A strange, almost glowing green liquid, it went down like fire and seared through my body, causing me to see the strangest things. We sang and danced on the rooftops, chased after angels and devils alike. Before I knew it, I was standing in my borrowed suit.

I wore a sleek, black suit jacket with tails, with an emerald green vest and white bowtie, which Hermione claimed brought out my eyes. She placed a top hat on my head, muttering something about "damned, uncontrollable hair," and I slid on a pair of white gloves. She smiled and nodded her head, happy with the results.

Hermione was dressed to the nines as well, wearing an iridescent burgundy dress, that gathered at the side of her trim waist. It appeared almost black when she moved with the light, the colors blurred and blended in a pleasing, dizzying manner. But maybe that was just the absinthe. She wore black velveteen heels and black lace gloves, her hair twisted back into a sleek chignon.

"You look lovely," I commented. She rolled her eyes.

"Truthfully, this is all about blending in. Only the wealthy and well-to-do members of high society London go to this club. They know how to keep things under wraps. A sort of don't ask, don't tell policy, yeah? And anyway, save the compliments for when it really matters, with Draco." She added.

"Wait… What exactly am I to do with this boy, this Draco?"

"You're reading poetry, performing for him. What, are you afraid he'll pounce on you, some sex-starved gay? I assure you he wont, because he's not. Sex-starved, that is." She chuckled.

"I just… I…" I couldn't seem to get the words out. I wasn't gay, was I? What kind of question was that! Why was I even asking myself that? Of course I wasn't! Hermione took note of my hesitation, and broke into a near fit of laughter.

"Well, Mr. Straight-and-Narrow, we'll see what happens tonight. Hell, I've known a few blokes that said they were straight and went after Draco. He seems to have this undeniable pull about him, as if no one can deny him once they see him. Can't explain it." She thought for a moment, then shrugged. "But if you say so…" She said in a sing-song voice, because we both knew I _hadn't _said so. I nodded, grimacing. She dropped the subject, handed me a shot of absinthe and poured one of her own. We clinked our glasses together, and I watched as she downed hers quick as a snap. I quickly swallowed the absinthe, feeling the flames lick down my throat and warm my belly, and Hermione took my hand. We were off to Honeyduke's, and I was to perform my poetry for Draco.

**Author's Note:**

So this is my first attempt at writing a crossover of any kind, and it was definitely harder than I thought to stick to the main plot points of Moulin Rouge while still creating my own story. Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome!


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